There was the voice of honesty in what she said, but Nathan remembered his wrongs. "If that's so, why didn't you come t' see 'er?" he said. "If you loved 'er, why'd you let 'er go down to 'er grave a pinin' for you? She looked for you till she was crazy 'most, an' she never got a decent word out of you, nor a decent visit neither. If you loved 'er, what'd you act that way for?" The memory of that last day, when his wife had yearned so pitifully for this girl, arose before him as he stood there, and shook his faith in the honesty of Elizabeth's purposes in spite of the earnestness of her manner. "That is the one thing I cannot explain, Uncle Nate," Elizabeth answered. "I--I was all ready to come that day and--and--then I couldn't." She buried her face in her hands at the memory of it and burst into tears. "Is it true that Hunter won't take you anywhere?" he asked pointedly. "You have been listening to the Cranes," she answered. "I've been listenin' t' more'n them," he said with the fixed purpose of drawing her out on the subject. "I've been listenin' t' some as says you're too high and mighty t' associate with th' likes of us--an' I've heard it said that your husband won't take you nowhere. Now I just naturally know that a man can't shut a woman up in this American country, so's she can't go anywhere she wants t', if she wants t' bad enough; an' I remember how Hunter was 'fore 'e married you; 'e was always on th' go--an' there's a nigger in th' woodpile somewheres." Elizabeth was for the moment staggered. What he said was so true. And yet, how untrue! It was hard to think with the eye of suspicion on her. Appearances were against her, but she was determined not to discuss the privacies of her married life. She paused and looked Nathan squarely in the face till she could control her reasoning faculties. "That is neither here nor there," she said quite firmly at last. "I shall not defend myself to you, Uncle Nate, nor explain away bad reports. It would not help me and it would not help you. What I am here for is to offer you my love _now_. What I want you to believe is that I mean it, that I've wanted to come, that I'm here because I want to be here, and that I never mean to neglect you again. I--I couldn't come to see her--but, oh, Uncle Nate, mayn't I come to see you? I can't tell you all the little ins and outs of why I haven't come before, but you must believe me." Elizabeth ended imploringly. The man was softened by her evident sincerity in spite of himself, and yet his wound was of long standing, his belief in her honesty shaken, his beloved wife in her grave, assisted to her final stroke by this girl's neglect, and he could not lay his bitterness aside easily. He did not speak. The silence which followed was broken only by the ticking of the old-fashioned Seth Thomas clock and the roar of the fire.